


Sunday Driving

by egocentrifuge



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traditions were generally slow to start, and so Geoff doesn't think of it as tradition. It's more... well, it's Gavin. At least he never calls from the same place twice. Geoff takes to clearing his schedule for Sundays, which is maybe stupid, but routine is comforting.</p><p>Routine turns out to be dangerous, as well, when Geoff comes out to his car one Sunday morning and finds a stranger with an aggressively pink rifle lounging against it.</p><p>--</p><p>The story of how the Fake AH Crew meets, told in a series of Sundays</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Driving

Geoff doesn't know when or why it started. Scratch that, he totally does--it's Gavin's fault, him and his terrible driving. Geoff hadn't thought twice when he had called so many months ago, saying sheepishly that, if you don't mind, he needed a ride.

It had been Sunday. A slow day for crime, Sunday, more because no one was out to rob than any latent faith on the part of criminals. Geoff had gotten into the car himself rather than send one of his lackeys on the journey; two hours later, they were still driving, giggling together as they burned fuel and time.

Traditions were generally slow to start, and so Geoff doesn't think of it as tradition. It's more... well, it's Gavin. At least he never calls from the same place twice. Geoff takes to clearing his schedule for Sundays, which is maybe stupid, but routine is comforting.

Routine turns out to be dangerous, as well, when Geoff comes out to his car one Sunday morning and finds a stranger with an aggressively pink rifle lounging against it.

"How did you get into my garage?" Geoff calls to him. There's a scope on the kid's gun, so he doesn't bother stopping a safe distance away--there are no safe distances. The stranger blinks at him blearily.

"Dude," Geoff says. "Were you asleep? Standing up? Against my car?"

"I was leaning," the stranger rumbles. Geoff snorts and shoos him away from his perch to examine the paint job.

"You're Geoff, right? I'm Ray."

"Hello, Ray," Geoff says absently. There are no scratches that he can see, not even lingering traces of pink from the rifle, so he palms his key and heads to the driver's side. Ray is still standing there drowsily when Geoff slides in; he sighs and rolls down the passenger side window.

"Look, are you coming? I'm on a schedule."

"Uh, sure." Ray clambers awkwardly into the car. His gun gets shoved into the foot well, but it's long enough that it still peeks up between Ray's legs. Geoff smirks at that before waiting.

"Funny schedule you have there," Ray says eventually. Geoff looks pointedly at his seat belt.

"Oh. Oh, right. Safety first."

"That's my motto," Geoff agrees. "Or, well, it probably should be. But that would be boring." He pauses before turning the engine over. "You didn't rig my car, did you?"

"Uh, no? I'm in it. Plus," Ray breaks off to stroke the shaft of his gun, still poking up between his legs. Geoff snickers.

"It's pretty," Geoff agrees. "Probably keeps you from having to get into a car with your target." He coaxes the engine into life. They don't explode.

Geoff sighs in relief. "So, Ray." he asks, because they're in the car and it's Sunday, after all. "What brings you to Los Santos?"

They chat aimlessly as Geoff drives. By the time Gavin calls with his no-longer contrite demand to be picked up, it's come out that Ray is here to try and get in with Geoff's crew. He doesn't say how he got into Geoff's garage--well, he does, but "the door" doesn't count as an answer when Geoff has two very well-paid men watching it.

Gavin turns out to be in a park when Geoff finally makes it to his coordinates. The Brit opens Ray's door and nearly slides into his lap before Ray can get his hands up defensively.

"Woah, woah! At least tell me your name first!"

"Oh. Hello." Gavin looks first at Ray and his metal shaft before leaning down to meet Geoff's gaze through the car.

"I called shotgun," he says petulantly. Geoff shrugs.

"He called rifle. Get in the damn car, Gavin."

They spend the afternoon getting to know Ray. He got started shooting because of video games, he still plays, yes he's beaten Peggle. He learns about them as well; Geoff tells him about the time he accidentally ate shit, and Gavin spends the last leg of their drive describing his first concussion in great detail.

"Where am I letting you off?" Geoff asks once Gavin has finished. Ray glances out the window.

"Uh, here is fine."

Geoff thinks it's a long shot Ray has any idea where they are. Gavin must think the same, because he rummages around in the foot well before coming up with one of the burner phones Geoff keeps around in case of emergencies.

"I'm putting our numbers on this," he tells Ray. "Same time next week, yeah?"

"Sure," Ray says. He looks at the phone carefully before starting to flip through it.

"Dude, there's Tetris on here."

"Don't be late," Geoff reminds him. "Gavin, hop up."

They don't discuss Ray after they've driven away, leaving him on the corner of Nowhere and Danger Street. When Gavin slides out at his apartment, Geoff leans over to shout at him through the window.

"Hey, you were talking about some guy named Michael, right?"

"Yeah." Gavin leans back into the car, eyes bright beneath his sunglasses. "Should I...?"

Geoff shrugs. "Why not? We need someone who can diffuse a security system with something other than a bullet, anyways."

"Alright. Cheers, Geoff."

"Seeya."

The next week, Geoff gets a disgruntled call on his way to picking up Ray.

"Geoff Ramsey?"

"Yep. Who are you?"

"Jack. Someone said you needed a driver."

Geoff's brow wrinkles. "Who the fuck said that? I'm a good driver." There's silence on the other end before Geoff remembers what's on his agenda for the week, the helicopter pilot he's been trying to track down.

"Oh, shit. Patillo, right? Yeah, hang on. Where are you at?"

When Ray gets into the car in an even seedier part of town than Geoff had last seen him in, Jack is still complaining about the quality of Meatspin Diners.

"They're not waffles," Jack is insisting. "They're just pancakes with ridges."

"Isn't that what waffles are?" Geoff asks. Jack bristles all the way down to his beard; Ray makes a noise of dissent from the backseat.

"Have you never eaten a waffle before? The structural integrity--"

"Yes!" Jack interrupts. "The structural integrity of a waffle is key. Pancake batter just doesn't cut it."

"Who uses pancake batter for waffles?" Ray demands. Jack gives him the address.

Geoff has two missed calls from Gavin by the time their work their is finished.

"'ello," Geoff offers around a mouthful of pancake once they've finally retrieved Gavin. After their impromptu heist he had found his way to the back seat and just sort of stayed to let Jack and Ray deal with their culinary discussions up front. A bespectacled, angry looking youth slides in after Gavin.

"This is Geoff?" he asks Gavin, then, "dude, are those waffles?"

The debate returns in full force. Jack, who's driving, threatens to turn the car around when Gavin declares he doesn't like American bacon.

Somehow, they all end up at Geoff's apartment after a detour for groceries. Jack looms imperiously in the Master Chief apron Geoff doesn't remember buying, but gentles when he laughs; Michael ends up making a complete mess of the coffee machine, and with Gavin slung around his neck.

Geoff misses most of the resulting scuffle because he's too busy trying to get Ray to up his gamerscore, which he found is best achieved not by wheedling, but by simply picking a random achievement off the screen and telling Ray to get it.

Sunday ticks into Monday without any of them noticing. As far as routines go, this is one Geoff thinks he can get behind.

Ryan Haywood is an accident. They all know of him--Geoff through targets hit before be got there, Michael through having his supplies bought out from under him, Jack through... Well, he had blushed and hadn't deigned to comment. Only Gavin and Ray admit to having met him.

"Good with a paintbrush," Gavin says thoughtfully when Geoff asks. "Rubbish at running with a team."

Ray seems like he's going to object, but sighs after a moment. "No, that's fair," he decides. "Great shot, though. Nearly cost me a job with his shooting."

"Hold on," Jack says. They're sprawled out in Geoff's living room, a profile spread across the table. "Were you working against him?"

"Well, yeah."

"And you're alive?" Michael demands. "When was this?"

It turns out to be from the first few weeks Ray had been in the city, before he had stopped taking jobs of his own in favor of throwing his lot in with Geoff as a full time member of the crew.

"And he just left you there," Gavin reiterates, not for the first time.

"Like I said. Came out of nowhere, shook my hand, told me it had been a good game. Then fucked off again in that creepy skull mask of his. I don't understand how he can look down a sight with that thing on his face."

Geoff leans forward. "Ray," he demands. "When you said you got into my garage--how did you do that?"

Ray startles, but grins. "Still worried about security?" he asks. "It was a one time thing, Geoff. No one else can pull it off, don't worry."

"That's my boi," Michael laughs. Geoff strokes his mustache with a frown.

"Damn," he mutters. "I was hoping Haywood would be connected in some way."

"Nah. That was all me. Besides, from what I heard, Ryan was halfway across the city that weekend, hitting up some restaurant."

Jack grumbles, but the familiar thrill of intuition pricks at Geoff.

"What restaurant?"

"What?"

"What restaurant, Ray? Does anyone know?"

They don't. There's a brief argument on not being worth their salary, to which the rebuttal is, of course, you don't pay us a salary, but Geoff ignores it in favor of tracking down the information. He's scowling at the others as they debate who would be the most successful if they were contributing members of society when the phone against his ear switches from hold music to a sleepy voice.

"Who's this?" the voice asks. Geoff holds up a hand for silence.

"Geoff Ramsey. Who're you?"

"Ryan Haywood." There's an ear-splitting yawn. "What's up?"

Geoff flounders for a moment. The others are looking at him expectantly. He takes too long, because Ryan speaks up again.

"Isn't it Sunday? Should I be waiting to be picked up or something?"

Geoff hides his panic behind authority. "Yeah, dude. You're late as dicks. Where the fuck are you?"

"Hold on a second. I'll get you the address."

When Geoff hangs up the phone a moment later, Jack has his head in his hands.

"Did you really," he starts. Geoff shrugs.

"Does anyone have a car than can fit six people?"

Enough time has passed when they finally roll at the address that Geoff is pretty sure Ryan will be gone. It's not disappointing, exactly, because there hadn't been a plan and if there had it certainly wouldn't involve inviting the thorn in their sides out for a drive, but Geoff sags anyways when the underpass is abandoned.

"Well," he says. The back of the van swings open before he can figure out what comes next.

"Morning. Hey, kid. Ray, isn't it?"

Ryan Haywood is unassuming in a rumpled black t-shirt and jeans, or he would be were he not decked out in war paint on top of it.

"I'm sure I didn't tell you that," Ray says, the first to recover. Ryan shrugs and grins.

"I kept up with your progress, padawan," he offers unrepentantly. To Geoff he says, "Move over."

That's how Geoff Ramsey finds himself crammed in the back of an armored vehicle with Ryan Haywood and the AH Crew, all sitting in silence until the enigma himself speaks up.

"I like the beard, Jack," he drawls. It's a testament to Jack's driving that the van doesn't lurch. Geoff watches him turn pink and thinks he can guess how he and Ryan knew each other.

"Thanks. You've grown your hair out. Is that a choice, or just laziness?"

"A little bit of both," Ryan admits. He looks at Gavin. "Nice shades."

"Thanks." Gavin grins. "I like what you've done to your make-up."

"If we're done with the compliment circle-jerk," someone says. Geoff is vaguely surprised to realize it's him. He clears his throat and continues.

"Ryan. You've, ah. You've been fucking with our plans recently."

Ryan startles. "You didn't get my message?" he asks. Geoff looks at Michael, who shrugs.

"Let's say I didn't," Geoff hedges. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Auditioning," Ryan says. It sounds far more relaxed than Geoff expected. If he had expected that. Which he hadn't.

"Ah, right."

Up front, Jack curses.

"Whose job was it to pay attention to Funhaus?" he demands. They all provide a different name. Jack shakes his head, but he's smiling despite the worry in his eyes. "They have a roadblock set up."

"They're hitting the First National," Ryan provides. At four looks--and one glance in the rearview mirror--of surprise, he finally starts to seem nervous.

"Was that not what this was about?" he asks, small, sheepish. Geoff looks to Michael, who hefts his semi-automatic.

"There's a cache nearby," Gavin offers.

"No, that's four blocks over," Jack chides.

"Is it? Damn."

"I know somewhere," Ryan says. "Turn around and take a left."

That's how they end up in what looks suspiciously like Ryan Haywood's safehouse, taking their pick of unfamiliar but clearly loved weaponry and body armor.

"So, you change your mind yet?" Geoff jokes. Ryan has been watching them suit up with a small frown.

"No, actually." The frown deepens. "It's just--where are your masks?"

Later, much later, after they've absorbed Funhaus into their growing crew and invested in a headquarters, Geoff thinks that it's probably Gavin's fault that they're here now. That he has a nearsighted sniper, a too-cheerful driver, a hacker from Jersey, and a sometimes whimsical mercenary.

It's anything but routine. But, Geoff thinks, that's okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you think and think and think about a world and sometimes you forget to eat because you're writing. This is the latter. Banged out in one sitting and unbeta'd, so please let me know if you find any errors.
> 
> find me at egocentrifuge.tumblr.com


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